


Why Not? (Is as Good a Reason as Any)

by Calliatra



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Banter, Contemplative Moodiness, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Melancholy, Post-Season Six, Some Humor, unconventional romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/pseuds/Calliatra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not much changes, really, and most of everything is still open. Still, somehow it makes all the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not? (Is as Good a Reason as Any)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kexing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kexing/gifts).



> Set not long after the seasons six finale. 'Cause I think we all still have a bit of post-finale healing to do. I certainly do.

The text comes right when Jeff is expecting it.

_what r u up to?_

It’s pathetic. She held out all of one week before texting him.

Of course, he’d already wanted to text her three days ago, so who is he to talk about pathetic. At least she had the courage to send the first text. Or maybe the desperation. But again, who is he to talk.

 _Enjoying my freedom_ , he writes back.

_u r so full of it. want to hang out?_

And the sad thing is that yes, yes he does. 

 

*

 

They hang out at the mall, because apparently they’ve regressed to _teenager_ levels of patheticness. Also, the mall has air conditioning.

Britta gets some kind of vegan, soy-based, locally-sources, naturally-flavored frozen yogurt concoction. He gets one, too, because the stand is right there and it’s just convenient. And also it’s low-fat and low-sugar.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, glaring at the mall’s centerpiece fountain. It’s a sculpture of a dolphin impaled on a sharp rock with water spewing from its blowhole. The artist probably thought it would look like it was jumping over the rock. And that dolphins breathe water. That, or he’d found a very clever way to advertise his murderous hatred of sea mammals. “I used to have a life. I used to have things to do. I used to have _other friends_.”

Britta shrugs. “Get used to it. They’re all going to leave us behind eventually, you know.”

“What do you mean, ‘us? You’re not going to stay at Greendale forever, either.”

“Sure I am.” She throws a penny into the fountain, or maybe a nickel? Actually, knowing her, it’s probably a quarter.

“Not to intrude on your self-pity fest, but _Chang_ made it out. I’m pretty sure that means _anyone_ can.”

“Gee, _thanks_. But did you ever think that maybe I don’t want to?”

Oh, come on. Even you can’t want to be a community college student forever.”

“Why not?” she asks, licking sideways at a drop on her cone.

“Well, setting aside the fact that it’s pathetic – because, let’s be honest, at this point that’s not something _any_ of us really have a right to say about other – don’t you want to be out there in the world, ‘making a difference’ or something? Or at least retroactively giving someone childhood trauma with a butchered understanding of Freud?”

Britta ignores the jab. “ _Obviously_ I want to make a difference. It’s my moral duty to stand up against the oppressive, ruthless, dictatorial—”

Jeff tunes her out for the minute and a half this usually goes on.

“…but why be a pebble in the river when you can be the pebble that stars a rockslide?”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

She sighs. “Jeff, do you know where in this country you can find the most energy for radical change?”

“The mid-season development meeting for American Idol?”

“Colleges! That’s where it’s all happening! That’s where young people tired of the tyranny of tradition are finding their political voices. And being educated to some day run the country. There’s no better place for an activist to be.” 

“I’m not sure how young our students are,” Jeff says drily. “I think some of them have been here since before the school was even built. And I’m _very_ sure none of them are ever going to run anything, unless it’s their own bootleg DVD business.”

“It’s so beautiful how much you believe in your students.” 

“And anyway,” he continues, “aren’t you going to have to get a real job eventually? Even your ridiculously generous parents can’t support you forever.”

“I reject their wealth privilege,” Britta says into a mouthful of non-tradename frogurt. She wipes her mouth with a napkin before she continues. “Did you know that bartending actually pays pretty well? And also, drunk men will give you huge tips if they think they have a shot with you.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever personally had the experience,” he says, pointing at a spot she missed. “But isn’t that selling out your gender?”

Britta swats him away, then wipes it off. “I’m conning assholes out of their money by using their own preconceived notions about women against them. I’m pretty sure I’m _empowering_ my gender.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” he says.

“For the next time you drunkenly hit on a bartender?”

“No, for the next time _you_ do.”

She rolls her eyes at him, which is a sure sign that he’s won.

“So,” he says, his eyes drifting back to the sad, mutilated dolphin, “you’ve really thought this through.”

She shrugs. “Had a lot of time this week.”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, then mentally tells the dumb dolphin to suck it, and presses on. “If it _is_ just us, next term…”

Britta snorts. “I’m not here to hold your hand through your existential crisis, Winger. Frankie will be there. And so will the Dean. And Chang, unless we’re lucky.”

“We’re never _that_ lucky,” he says.

Britta pokes him in the side and steals some of his frogurt. 

 

*

 

He takes to going to The Vatican a few times a week. Hey, he has finals to grade, and that’s easiest if he’s at least slightly buzzed. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with Britta. And to prove that, he only comes here when she’s working, and won’t have time for him.

But it turns out it _is_ kind of fun to watch her work. He wouldn’t say that she’s actually _good_ , but she’s got a certain… style. Sure, it often involves telling patrons what’s wrong with their psyche in terms that would make any real psychologist’s head explode, but most of the people are drunk enough to mistake that for actual insight.

And, he has to hand it to her, she can spot a mark a mile off. Anyone not resolutely fixed on their favorite drink walks away with something three times fancier, and five times more expensive.

“So,” he leans on the bar, leering just enough to get her to roll her eyes, “what would you recommend for me?”

“For you? A high rye bourbon,” she smirks. “It’s what all the wannabe hipsters are drinking.”

“I’d say ‘ouch,’ but that burn is so 2009, it’s still crying about _Up_.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the actual tobacco pipe you keep hidden in your desk.”

“Says the woman wearing a macramé top.”

“Says the woman whose macramé top is currently earning her rent money.”

It’s possible that their banter isn’t the sharpest five drinks into the night, he thinks. But they make up for that with extra hostility.

“Good thing you’re wearing that, then. I’d had to see how you’d do without it.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause I think your eyes are trying to develop x-ray vision right now.”

“If that’s supposed to be a come-on, you’re in way worse shape than I thought.”

“I get off at four,” Britta snaps.

“I’ll meet you at the back door,” he growls.

So that’s how that happens. 

 

*

 

They fall into a kind of routine. The mall, the bar, and his place, in no particular order. Sometimes a casual restaurant. (Never her place, because the cats _watch_ them. And he’s never doing that again.) One time they go see an action flick, and get popcorn thrown at them for mocking it too loudly.

It’s more fun than it should be. And it has a nice predictability about it. It’s… almost comfortable. In a weird kind of way. 

 

*

 

He types and deletes the text three times, has a drink, then presses _send_ before he can change his mind again.

_We going to keep doing this during the semester?_

His phone dings a cool six minutes later, during which he definitely wasn’t staring at it nervously.

_sure why not. til we get bored or whatever_

Well then. Season seven might not turn out so bad after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kexing, I hope you liked this! I saw you on the pinch hit list, and while my fic idea didn't match your request well enough for me to claim it, I thought you might still enjoy it as a treat. :)


End file.
